i don't understand, but i don't need to.I feel like i don't give you the things that matteri've always prided myself on my ability to conjure stories andwords and at the drop of a hat, and i've spun countless talesabout things that are out of my control and aches and ghostsand that time we weren't us.when it comes to you there's never enough.never enough of anything; words, time or love.because nothing is enough to sum this all up, and i feel thatthis is the best feeling ever and it would lose somethingif i could wrap it up in a sentence or a noveland do it justicethats what makes this so specialcause i used to think i understood myselfand that i knew i was all over the place and constantly runningto things i wasn't even sure existed.but you slow me down to a pace where i can see the outlinesof trees and i can breathe again. i keep reaching to grab yourarms or hands or waist to make sure you're still therecause i'm terrified you'll disappear.but you're not.and i'm not.you should know that i'm not comfort
apparitionits the things that aren't really there that stick in your throat the most.he had a knack for leaving me for periods at a time, usually in the middleof the night around when morning wasn't to be seen for miles. i'd wakeup with the bed empty and my voice gone and people asking me thingslike, "how long were you together?" as if they hadn't ever known he wasthere with me that whole time.his name was taboo for years. i never even had the courage to managethe first consonant of him until three years ago; it was slippery as it fellout of my mouth, almost tugging the whole thing with it. i'd cut it shortjust after the "w" and left those who were listening in confusion."what did you say there?"they'd ask.i was never one to talk of things that i wasn't sureexisted, like god or heaven or him.all of his things were gone themorning after he would leave, the house and myself gutted of hisexistence. who was i to say that he was really there at one point?"oh, just a stutter," i'd tell
Untitledi know how to make certain parts of my body numbif i sit on my feet while i type on my laptopthey go to sleepa heavy sleepits a rubber bands around my pinkyand its purples and bruises and goes silenthow do i make my heart stop feeling?I run my hands over icy water,slapping my face until I'm too numb/to know if I'm crying or smiling.The air gets thicker with unnecessary breathsand I think"maybe i never felt at all"maybe its all a masteri know plenty of things that i've been tricked into believinglike good triumps bador that the darkness doesn't last foreverbut what if i am the exceptiontheres any exception to everythingright? maybe thats me, maybe i am the darknessand as melodramatic as it soundstheres no way to disprove itI try to pack up the words into a suitcasebut they never fitand the moment I step outside,they expand like an ocean,tides of terrible dreams and insufficient touchesand all the little things I tried to convince myselfnever truly matte
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(You're too cute for me not to fave this, omg.) ;_;